


Blood Tells

by firefright



Series: 100 Prompts [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Blood Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Psychic Bond, Temporary Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: Damian, the son of two ancient vampire bloodlines, is surprised when his mother offers him the stolen corpse of his father's familiar as a gift, promising to raise him from the dead as Damian's fledgling servant. Spurred by ambition, he accepts her offer; a choice he does not regret as years later Jason continues to prove his value to him as both an ally and more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sunday friends! Welcome to another edition of a story I had to wrestle into not letting become a multichapter thing, because I have too many of those on the go already. This is both my contribution to spoopy month and another fill for my 100 prompts challenge, based off #17: Blood. It would have been posted on Halloween itself except I have something else scheduled to go up that day XD 
> 
> A note, while both Damian and Jason are over the age of 18 chronologically and mentally in this story, they physically appear around 16, which is why I've used the underage warning as a precaution. Nothing happens past kissing though.

He’s in the midst of his nightly studies when his mother comes to him, appearing out of the shadows like a wraith for the first time in weeks.

Tonight she stands robed in al Ghul green, with a gold sash around her waist. Her lips painted a deep blood red to match her nails as she lifts one dusky skinned hand to beckon him forwards to her. His name is a beseechment upon her lips, a command he cannot help but follow.

“ _Damian_.”

Damian sets down his pen at once, slipping from his chair to cross the room towards her. As soon he is close, he bows his head to allow her fingers to smooth through his short-cropped hair with easy affection; nails raking over his scalp just hard enough to sting. “Mother.”

“I have something to show you, my son.” Talia’s smile doesn’t falter. Only grows wider as she draws his head in to lean in against her shoulder. “A gift, just for you.”

It’s been so long since he last saw her that he aches just to stay here, like this. To drift in her oft missed presence. But it is not his choice. When she leaves him, Talia never tells Damian where she goes. He is meant to trust and accept, until such time as he is deemed ready to be part of his family’s wider business. He is the dutiful al Ghul son, heir to the Demon, and when his mother beckons he follows, until the day comes that it is his turn to lead.

“A gift, Mother?” Curiosity brims up inside him. He sees nothing on her person. “Where?”

“I will show you. Come with me.” Talia loosens her embrace around him, taking his hand in hers instead. Her palm is cool and dry as she leads him from his rooms into the complex beyond, and Damian can taste the floral scent of her perfume drifting through the air between them; soft and delicate over the ever present tang of blood.

Their path takes them deeper into the base than he’s ever been before. Either with, or without, permission. His own explorations always ended at impossibly locked doors, made beyond his skills to pick open, but those gateways part before his mother with a brush of thought, swinging open on soundless hinges.

With every step his intrigue deepens. This gift must be something very valuable, or why else would it be kept behind so much security?

They pass guards. All of them men and women belonging to his mother’s inner circle - not his grandfather’s. Even curiouser.

Damian opens his mouth to ask why, but his mother shushes him gently before producing a heavy iron key out of her sash. She uses it to unlock a final door, then ushers him quickly inside.

There are small lights in here. Black candles with blue flames of some mystical make. The room is plain and square, built from grey stone without decoration. In the middle is a great marble slab, and upon it -

“A cadaver?” He asks, brows drawing together as he stares at the still body in front of him. “This is my gift?”

His mother’s laugh is deep and husky. “Does it displease you?”

Damian’s ire is as powerful as his confusion. He knows there must be more to it than there first appears, but he still feels displeasure at the idea she is laughing at him.

Is this a test? Is there something he is supposed to see here that he has missed? He would not be surprised, but he cannot for the life of him think what it is, and that worries him. He is always being tested. It is part and parcel of being an al Ghul. His grandfather, ancient and cunning, has no room for weakness in his bloodline.

“I do not see what possible use I could have for a dead human, Mother.”

“Ah, but this is not just any dead human, my son.” Talia bends down, so her lips brush his ear. “This one belonged to your father.”

At once Damian’s spine goes rigid. His attention entirely on his mother’s words and the body before him. When he steps towards the slab to get a closer look at the corpse it’s with Talia’s hand at his back guiding him forward.

The body is of a boy, approximately sixteen years old. His gently curled hair is as dark as his skin is pale; pale like the skin of all people borne of his ethnicity in death. Set against the dark fabric of his burial clothing - a western-style suit - it looks almost like porcelain, but for the dark mars of bruises that the mortician’s skill had not been enough to cover.

When Damian reaches out to brush his thumb against the boy’s cool cheek, beneath the dark sweep of his eyelashes, he feels the shattered bone give easily beneath his touch.

“Who was he?”

“His name is Jason Todd. Your father brought him into his home from Gotham’s streets three years ago, raising him as both his foster son and blood donor.”

“What happened to him?”

Talia rests her hands on his shoulders. “He was murdered by one of your father’s enemies.”

Damian’s eyes narrow, and in his mouth his teeth threaten to sharpen, pushing against his bottom lip. “You stole his body.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Talia smiles, dropping a kiss onto the crown of his head. “For you, of course.”

Damian still doesn’t understand. “But for what purpose? He is dead. What benefit is there to me keeping his corpse?”

“He is only dead for now. But soon that will change. _He_ will change.”

Damian turns his head to look up at her as the realisation hits him. “You’re going to turn him? How?”

For a human to become a vampire, the gift must be bestowed upon them at the moment of death while their heart was still beating, not after, as it was necessary that the blood of the creator be carried throughout their veins. Surely if it were possible to do so otherwise his father would have made the effort, rather than leaving this boy to the icy grasp of death. His mother’s stories made it clear that he was a man who cared deeply for all those under his care; a failing as much as a strength.

In fact - if Damian remembers his lessons correctly - his father had done just that when his previous familiar suffered a similar fate. He had changed him. Rescuing him from the cusp of death to be a part of his coven forever more.

… so why not this one?

“It is better you do not know at this point.” Talia tells him, not unkindly. “But when I bring him back I would have him be yours, my son, more than mine or any other’s. That is why I brought you here today.”

Damian licks his lips, darting his tongue out between his sharp eye teeth. The idea of taking his father’s familiar as his own is not without its enticements - though he would much rather meet the man himself instead. After this many years he knows better than to make that query again though. His mother insists he will meet his father when the time is right and not before.

“What do I need to do?”

His mother smiles, pleased by his cooperation and fearlessness. “Give me your arm, my son.”

Damian stays still as she produces the needle. As she rolls the silk fabric of his sleeve up to expose his elbow, then presses the sharp point to the inner bend of his arm. The prick of metal is barely noticeable as he keeps his eyes focused on the face of the boy who is to be his throughout the blood taking process.

Finally, when the vial is full, his mother lets him go.

The wound stops bleeding and heals over the moment the needle is pulled free, so Damian rolls his sleeve back down without fear of a stain being left behind. “How long do I have to wait until he’s mine?”

Young as he is for a born-vampire, he’s never been allowed the opportunity to turn someone before. With the prospect finally before him - albeit in an unconventional way - Damian actually finds himself feeling rather excited, though he takes care not to show it.

“Soon.” Talia brushes her hand over his hair again. “Soon, I promise. Now, you’d best return to your studies. One of the guards will see you back upstairs.”

Damian bows his head respectfully. “Of course, Mother. Thank you for your gift.”

He makes it almost to the door before she speaks again. “And Damian?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Speak not a word of this to your grandfather. This project is our little secret, do you understand?”

Damian pauses, with his hand lingering on the door handle. The only reason his mother would have to hide this from his grandfather was if he would not approve of her actions, and to deceive his grandfather is an act worthy of death should they be caught. A battle is fought inside him, but only for a moment.

He wants this advantage too much to disobey her.

“Of course, Mother. You have my word.”

 

*

 

Several years later, Damian waits impatiently within the walls of one of the League’s Gotham lairs for his guest to arrive.

A wait that only lasts ten minutes past the time of his own arrival, as the soft squeak of hinges from the ceiling above heralds Jason’s presence, seconds before the skylight opens and the boy himself drops down to land silently in a crouch in front of him.

Jason carries himself with a swagger as he walks forwards across the carpet towards him; the very image of precocious youth. His smile is a savage’s smile - like one of the Lost Boys of Never Never Land, full and toothy, beneath a head of wind-tousled black hair and eyes too green to be anything other than unnatural.

It’s almost awkward for a moment as they stare each other down. Until Jason laughs, shaking his head as he finishes crossing the distance between them; booted feet hop-skipping across the floor. Lazarus magic and vampire blood combined runs through his veins: Damian’s blood, and being around him again carries an instant feeling of home that he’s missed ever since he came to Gotham.

“Hey, sunshine. I was wondering when you’d get around to summoning me.”

Damian suppresses the strange stab of guilt he feels at that statement. Covering it up with irritation at the choice of address, “It wasn’t my wish to delay our reunion so long, I had to wait. It’s taken time for my father and Grayson to trust me enough that I could walk out into the city on my own.”

“Of course it did. And you’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“I am not some amateur, Todd.” He rolls his eyes at the implication. “No one knows I am here. Not my father, nor Grayson either. Not even that imbecile, Drake. We are safe for at least an hour until I am missed.”

“Good.” Jason stops when he’s more or less in Damian’s face, teetering on his tiptoes. He narrows his eyes as he looks him over, like they’ve been separated for fifty years rather than just three, then seems suddenly displeased. “... you grew again. You’re taller than me now.”

His surprise is not unmerited. Born vampires grow so slowly. At a rate of one year to every human’s three. Which means that even though Damian is older than Jason by at least two decades, only recently have they come to physically resemble each other in age. He has grown ever taller since that first time he saw Jason’s body, lying cold and stiff upon a stone slab in his mother’s basement. But Jason not at all. That’s the curse of those who are made rather than born.

“Of course.” he replies, turning towards one of the divans in the room and beckoning Jason to follow him. “I expect to be at least as tall as Father by the time I am done.”

Damian sits, folding one leg at the knee under him, while Jason drops down and sprawls like the indolent American teenager he appears to be. Legs spread and elbows resting back against the divan’s cushions. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a worn band t-shirt, and torn jeans, in sharp contrast to Damian’s more formal black attire.

“With any luck you’ll be taller. I’d be fine with that just to have something else to annoy him with.” The edge of bitterness in Jason’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and Damian is again discomforted by the drop of guilt he feels in conjunction. It is not proper for an al Ghul to feel discomfort over a fledgling’s pain. “I can’t believe you’re actually living with the guy now.”

“Mother thought it best given the current state of the League.”

“Yeah, well. Your mom also thought it best to bring _me_ back, which I would have made a healthy argument against. Just goes to show she’s not always right.”

Damian bites his lip. Three years apart has been enough for him to forget the worse parts of Jason’s personality. Most relevantly, his tendency towards self-deprecation. “Is it truly so terrible that you’re alive?”

“Define alive, Damian. I’m pretty sure what I am is _undead_.” The smile is gone from Jason’s face, his attention somewhere else for a moment. Then, just as suddenly, he’s shaking his head, and the smile is back, if not quite as cocksure as before. “So how are they treating you?”

“Todd -”

“No seriously, I want to know. How pissed was Bruce that he missed your existence for fifty years?”

Damian narrows his eyes, and for a moment considers ordering Jason to tell him exactly what it was that was running through his mind moments before. With a high enough exertion of willpower he could force him to obey almost any command, no matter how strong his resistance. That’s the advantage he has with Jason over any other as the one whose blood raised him from the dead. That’s how he summoned him here tonight, with only a thought.

But he won’t. He won’t, even though he did at the beginning of their relationship: when Jason was little more than a blood-crazed feral beast, and Damian arrogant enough to only think of him as a tool to be used. It took time for them both to understand each other, and it was only when Damian learned to ask instead of order that he understood the true benefit of the loyalty Jason had to offer.

And now he is his… his friend, just as much as his fledgling. The only companion he’s ever had where he didn’t have to worry about them attempting to drive a stake through his heart when his back was turned. Which is why it had galled him so when he let himself be convinced by his mother to send Jason forwards to Gotham alone ahead of him: to let him wreak vengeance in return for the wrongs he felt done to him, and to keep him safely out of the way of his grandfather’s prowling suspicions.

“Well enough.” he answers eventually, choosing to letting the matter go. “They do not let me kill though. Or even feed directly from the vein of a human. Everything I drink in their care must come from a plastic bag.” Damian lets his disgust come through clear in his tone. “It is both cold and unpleasant.”

“Well gosh, sunshine.” Jason snorts, “I coulda warned you of that. I used to donate blood to him, remember?”

“I always assumed he actually fed from you.”

His fledgling shakes his head. “You would’ve seen the bite scars on my body if he had. I always wanted him to, just to see what it was like, but he refused every time. He was always afraid he’d lose his precious control and do something he’d regret. Dick too.”

Damian scoffs. He doesn’t know if that’s strictly true or just what Jason believes, but if it is the case then it lowers his opinion of them both. “They’re weak if that’s all it takes for them to lose control.”

Jason flashes him a wider smile, one that exposes the pointed tips of his canines. “So is that the worst of it?”

“Mostly.” he grouses. “Father is… not all I expected. Grayson is insufferable; he treats me like a child despite the fact we are the same age. And Drake is an imbecile unworthy of his title. But otherwise…” Damian frowns down at his lap. “It’s fine.”

“You miss home, huh?”

“I miss the peace of it.” Damian acknowledges, “This city is loud, and it stinks. And too full of other monsters that do not belong here. But I am growing used to the way Gotham works.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

Jason looks put out for a moment. Damian wonders if he meant to ask if he missed him, but what he actually says is, “How am I going to fit into your life now that you’re here? Bruce still doesn’t know how I came back, I made sure he didn’t find out just like you told me to.” his eyes gleam in the apartment’s low light, “He doesn’t know about our connection.”

Damian considers this, before quickly reaching a decision. “I think it would be best to keep it that way. He would be displeased should he learn the truth.”

Jason cocks his head, inquisitive, measuring. “Is that the only reason?”

“Not the only reason.” Damian turns towards him on the divan. Their fingers brush on the edges of the seat. “I like having you be my secret alone.”

“Your dirty little secret.” Jason mocks half-heartedly.

“Nothing so crass.” Damian corrects with a frown. “Would you rather he know?”

“Fuck no. He’s a big enough pain in my ass already.” It’s surprising that it took this long for Jason to cuss in some manner, and Damian smirks at hearing it. “So what did you mean by that?”

“I mean,” He replies patiently, “That you are mine. My fledgling, my… mine. I have no wish for anyone else to interfere in what is our business alone.”

Jason continues to look at him appraisingly for a long moment, then nods. “You know, when you talk like that it almost makes me think I missed you.”

“Did you?” Damian asks, trying to keep the hunger out of his voice.

“Maybe. Just a little. What about me? Did you miss me?”

“Hardly.”

When Damian reaches up and cups the back of Jason’s skull he moves forwards willingly, allowing him to press their foreheads together. The comforting feeling is back. The reminder of home and hours spent together in the privacy of Damian’s rooms as he taught Jason how to fight like a vampire, an assassin, an _al Ghul_ , and more besides. There’s no rush of breath against his lips the way there would be if he did this with a human or another born-vampire, and that too is familiar. At least until Jason purposefully inhales and blows forwards.

“Idiot.” Damian mutters as he wrinkles his nose. His breath smells like fresh blood. He wonders if he fed before he came here.

“Moron.” Jason replies. Then curiously, he clears his throat. “You know, if Bruce isn’t feeding you well enough, maybe I could help with that. Give you something good to chow down on.”

Damian frowns, “I gave my word I would not drink from a living human in this city, and I am not an oathbreaker.”

“You are not an oathbreaker when it _suits_ you. But that’s besides the point, I’m not asking you to drink from a _living_ human, Damian.”

The pointedness of his reply makes it impossible to miss what Jason is getting at. In response, Damian’s stomach suddenly cramps with both hunger and desire, as his fangs slip low enough from his gums to cut his own mouth. The taste of his own blood hardly helps matters as the pad of his thumb brushes lower down Jason’s neck.

It was his choice to agree to halt as long as he stays in Gotham, his desire to play the part of a Wayne more than an al Ghul as long as he’s underneath his father’s roof. He wants Bruce’s approval, but Damian was raised on blood, hot and fresh from the human vein, since infancy. Ra’s has thralls numbering in the hundreds: willing humans obedient to his creed, who leap at every opportunity to give their life’s blood to their masters - even when it means death. Damian has never known anything else, and so being asked to quit entirely has been a greater challenge than any he had ever encountered before,

“You don’t mind?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? So long as you don’t take too much.” Jason grins at him, recognisable at this proximity only by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’d like to still be able to walk home by myself before sunrise.”

“Tt, as if I would be foolish enough to leave you helpless.”

“I’m just saying, you can be a greedy bastard.”

“This coming from the one who has cut ribbons through Gotham’s underworld since his return.”

Jason laughs. “That’s just good sense, not greed.”

“Your excuses are duly noted and ignored as drivel.” Damian drawls, before his hand slips forwards to the front of Jason’s neck and guides his head to tilt backwards. The network of veins across his fledgling’s throat is as familiar to him as the pattern of his own bedspread back home. “Now if you’re serious about this…”

Jason shivers. “I am, so stop fucking asking and go ahead and do it already.”

“As you wish.” Damian leans forward, his other hand going to Jason’s waist as he draws him closer and dips his head down, nosing at Jason’s skin. He smells good this close, like blood and metal; the oil from the guns Damian knows he uses when he’s only killing rather than hunting.

With a hunger driven by a deep and desperate need, he bites. Fangs breaking through the fragile upper layer of skin on Jason’s throat until they sink deeper down into the cool flesh below and spear through the thick artery that runs up the side of his neck. Lukewarm blood spurts into his mouth and across his tongue, good enough that Damian groans at the contrast to the refrigerated fare he has had to make do with the past month.

It may not be the same as the rich and full-bodied heat of blood taken directly from a human vein, but the taste of another vampire’s blood has a satisfying flavour all its own, and Jason’s blood is no exception to that (sweet and heady, warm and filling; like him, like _home_ ). It’s more than enough to quiet that yawning hunger that Damian has carried within him at all the times ever since he left the house of his mother and grandfather.

Jason shudders when Damian drags him even closer: the longer he drinks, the more instinct takes over. Appetite deals with his own inhibitions, while for Jason the pleasure of being fed from drowns out anything else he may be feeling. The venom in a vampire’s fangs which subdues a human has an altogether different effect on their own kind, and while Damian has never allowed another to feed from him the way he is from Jason (it is beneath him as an al Ghul), he has an intellectual’s understanding of its potency.

That understanding is proven by the way Jason’s hands grip onto his shoulders, clutching tight, as Damian drinks and drinks. Mouthful after mouthful of his blood sliding down his throat to warm his stomach. He drinks until he’s sated, until Jason is squirming and gasping, moaning his name; a warning sign that he’s on the verge of taking too much and leaving the younger vampire helpless as a result.

With a formidable display of willpower, Damian forces himself to let go. To unclamp his jaw and slide his teeth back out of Jason’s flesh. It’s more difficult than it has any right to be, considering that he has a lifetime of mastering his appetite under his belt, but Damian blames that upon the comparatively poorer fare he has to look forward to back at home. It makes his hunger for anything else all the stronger.

Small trickles of blood escape the wound in Jason’s neck in the seconds before it can heal over, and Damian doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate, before licking it clean. Collecting every precious drop of blood possible on his tongue rather than seeing it go to waste.

Jason makes a different sound this time, an almost whimper, and when Damian draws back to look into his face his pupils have dilated to the point that his eyes are almost completely black. It’s a sight that has him shivering in response, tongue licking over his lips to taste any remaining trace of Jason upon them.

“Damian.” Jason says, breathing unnecessarily: a reflex left over from fifteen years of habit before he died.

His fingers brush from Damian’s shoulder to his neck, cupping underneath his jaw before Jason is leaning up to touch their mouths together. Jason’s tongue pushes between his lips as he kisses him, licking the taste of his own blood out of the corners of his mouth, and Damian shudders in response, one hand in Jason’s hair while the other holds tight to his waist.

It feels natural to kiss back. Their lips slip together, tongues brushing. It’s slow, exploratory rather than desperate as they chase the taste of blood and each other between them.

Jason inhales shakily when they finally part, foreheads pressed together once more. “You really did miss me then.”

“Shut up.”

He’s blushing, he can tell by the way Jason laughs at him, but at least it’s not as boisterous as it normally would be. He probably has the blood loss to thank for that. “I’m just saying, kissing me like that…”

“You kissed me first.” Damian points out firmly, and just a little childishly. His mind is still a little blown from feeding, as well as the kiss. “So who exactly missed who the most?”

Jason snorts, then sinks forwards so that his head is resting against Damian’s shoulder. He will need some time to recover before he’s ready to go anywhere, and Damian doesn’t complain; it’s the least he can do in exchange for what his fledgling has given him.

Being so close to another is still strange at times, but Damian’s more used to it with Jason than any other. He doesn’t shrink away from his touches the way he does Grayson’s thoughtless contact back at the manor.

“Denial, not just a river in Egypt.” Jason mutters.

Damian doesn’t know what to say in response to that, so he says nothing. The taste of Jason is still fresh on his tongue, and the cool weight of his body against his feels like answer enough. He wants to kiss him again more than he wants to argue; taste him again.

And why not? He is al Ghul. An al Ghul does not flinch from taking what he wants.

So Damian hooks his index finger up underneath Jason’s chin, raising his pale face once more to his own. This time the kiss is not so blind or unexpected, at least not on his part. Jason sighs as their mouths press together, warm and damp until their lips part and his tongue licks between Damian’s still extended fangs.

This time Jason is the one who blushes when he pulls back, before he asks, “... how much longer do you have before you have to go back?”

“Long enough. I can remain with you while you recover.”

“But -”

“You are my fledgling, therefore my responsibility. Do not argue with me.”

Jason doesn’t. Instead he kisses him again, a little more hesitant and sweet as the aftereffects of being fed from continue to dissipate from his veins, but it thrills Damian all the same. “You turning into a rebel now? Must be my bad influence at work finally.”

“Do not give yourself so much credit. I am perfectly capable of making my own choices.”

Jason grins, displaying all his teeth. He still looks flushed, and for once unabashedly happy. It soon tempers though as he settles down and presses his head into Damian’s shoulder. “... you don’t have to go back there, you know. You could come with me instead. The two of us together… this town would never know what hit it.”

The thought has crossed Damian’s mind already, long before Jason ever voiced it. “They would come looking for me. Mother too. And even they do not find us, she _would_.”

“I ain’t scared of your ma.” Jason grumbles.

“That’s because you are a reckless idiot.” Damian reaches up, cupping Jason’s neck in his palm. “Be patient, Jason. It should only be necessary for me to remain here a few weeks more. Then we can both return home.”

“We?”

“Of course.” He feels the flutter of his fledgling’s throat against his hand when he swallows. “Do you think I would come all this way, and not take you home with me again?”

Jason shrugs, but he relaxes more against Damian’s side and into his hand, going almost boneless. “Fine. Just don’t go too long before summoning me again. I’m not above causing trouble for Bruce to see you again if I have to.”

“You hardly need me as an excuse to do that.”

“Nope. But it is an added bonus.”

Damian snorts, saying nothing further. Jason seems content to rest against him and nothing more, and for the next hour he basks in the feeling of home. The piece of himself he’s been missing longer than other, until the sun threatens to rise and they finally have to pull themselves apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And now [imzy](https://www.imzy.com/firefright) too.


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